


All Choked Up

by streetlightbenifesto



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: (FINALLY), Bigender Character, F/M, Kissing, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:45:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4018552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/streetlightbenifesto/pseuds/streetlightbenifesto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Armin are set up on the sly by mutual friends. Armin ends up being the cure Jean needs for long bouts of insomnia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eyebrows Arching Over Baby Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Bertl is trans in this fic, named Beth. Armin is bigender, referred to with she/her pronouns when presenting feminine.

There was little Jean’s body couldn’t do. He was a seasoned athlete, with focus on running and swimming, leaving his muscles lean, tanned, and freckled on his shoulders; he was a competent mechanic, long fingers maneuvering around intricate inner workings of whatever machine sat before him; he was also a working artist, steady and skilled hands rough and often stained from manipulating a range of artistic media. 

The one thing Jean’s body had trouble with was sleeping. He spent many nights in the spare room of his apartment with soft music playing, bent over a sketchbook or sitting before a canvas, not finding rest until the sky turned a pearlish gray with the dawn. When inspiration failed him he spent time cleaning his work room, organizing his materials and cleaning his tools meticulously. 

Tonight began as usual; Jean would doze on the couch around eight or nine, primetime television droning and punctuated by laugh tracks, beer barely hanging in his right hand. It always felt like he could sleep, but eventually a particularly loud commercial would rouse him. He rose to begin sorting out the orders of his art prints, checking and responding to the few commission emails that had accumulated over the past few days and stretched, settling in for another long night. 

Jean looked up at his clock, noting the early hour of 8:17 PM. He drummed his fingers on his thighs and contemplated his options. He could work out, paint, or clean...again. Jean sighed and adjusted his loose basketball shorts, walking into his workroom and scanned the long bench of paints, brushes, and canvas building materials. He ran his fingers over the worn workbench, marked with dents, paint splatters, and wood splinters trapped under clear varnish.  
Jean’s father had given him the bench when he was 18 as a graduation gift. In the short five years since, Jean had lugged it through three apartments, countless canvas building mishaps, and who knows how many painting experiments, collage sessions and sleepless nights. It was the most reliable part of his life. Jean tapped a beat on the metal of the bench familiarly and grabbed his sketchbook.  
He worked on figure studies, brainstorming for a commission he had received with speed sketches. Seven five minute bursts later, Jean’s phone went off. 

[BETH]: Hey you! Reiner and I are @ the Pink Lady for drinks. Join us?

Jean smiled at his screen. The Pink Lady was a gay bar only three blocks away from his apartment complex. He figured that it wouldn’t hurt to kill time with some old friends, as he wouldn’t be necessarily busy on another night spent tortuously awake. 

[JEAN]: Of course! Be there in twenty.  
[BETH]: Great. See u then!

Jean locked his phone and set his sketchbook aside, rose from his stool and padded towards his room. 

Not feeling fancy, but not necessarily sloppy either, Jean opted for a dark red button down with cream buttons, dark wash jeans and black suede six hole high tops. He rolled up his sleeves, making sure the folds were neat and even before walking to the bathroom to check himself in the mirror. He passed his hand through his hair once, not bothering to try and tame the sandy mess. Before exiting the room, Jean leaned over the counter and plucked a stray eyebrow hair. He brushed his eyebrows into uniform arches and nodded to himself, stepping out and gathering his keys, phone, wallet and gum. Checking and rechecking his pockets, Jean did a loop around the apartment, shutting off the lights and closing doors. Satisfied, he then departed.

Jean lived rather close to the downtown area, and while it was more expensive, he preferred to live where there was noise and life. The ever changing atmosphere helped fuel his creativity and kept him busy. He worked as a busboy in a local cafe to make up for the inconsistency in his income earned from his art, and while it could be tiring, he always enjoyed meeting new people and greeting the regulars. Jean prided himself on his charisma and took joy in connecting with people, even if briefly. 

As he strolled down the sidewalk, Jean took a few moments to appreciate the April evening. It wasn’t quite warm anymore, as the sun had taken the heat with it over the horizon, but it was comfortable enough. Jean could smell the laundry detergent of the laundromat he frequented mingling with the Chinese and Thai food restaurants across the way. It smelled like home to him. Streetlights washed clear, warm light along the walkways and narrow streets, lighting the smiles of the people walking past. Sometimes Jean was grateful that he got the chance to embrace nights like this; sometimes sleepless nights weren’t as aggravating, especially when he could soak up the energy of the town. 

Jean rounded the corner that would take him to The Pink Lady, attention caught by a flash of cornsilk hair following a small, slender person entering the venue. Jean found himself speeding up a bit, but by the time he had reached the door, the person was either lost to the crowd or he had been mistaken in their direction; either way, Jean lost sight of them. 

Beth approached Jean, and she draped a hand over his shoulders in welcome. Beth was tall, standing at almost 6’5” in tonight’s wedges, accentuating her long, lean legs. She wore a formfitting camisole and shorts, as well as a calf-length gray knit cardigan. Her dark hair was loosely curled and tousled, rich brown eyes brightened by a slim line of golden eyeliner and lips colored with a matte dark nude lipstick. Beth’s beauty never failed to astonish Jean. He noted, however, that she seemed more comfortable in the bustling bar than she would normally, so he assumed that she had already had a drink or two. 

“Jean, great to see you!” Beth smiled at him and led him to wear she and her boyfriend, Reiner, were seated at the bar. Reiner was tall, 6’ even, and barrel chested. He wore a red flannel and jeans, short blonde hair sticking straight out from his head. He offered Jean his hand in a handshake, clapping Jean on the back. 

“Glad you could make it, man, been a while,” Reiner said gruffly. 

“Yeah, man, thanks for inviting me. Needed to get out, y’know?” Jean’s smile tilted sideways, knowing he had a habit of locking himself away. 

“Can’t let you stew in all that artsy angst forever,” Beth joked, passing Jean a scotch on the rocks. Jean raised his glass to Beth and Reiner in thanks and took a sip, savoring the sharp burn. 

The three chatted for a while about current happenings. Reiner had been promoted from shift manager to general store manager at the local hardware store, and was excited to finally be paid a salary, not just by hourly minimum wage. Beth was collaborating with some coworkers on trans youth health and dysphoria coping skills for information brochures to hand out at the youth homeless shelter she worked at. Jean did his best to explain one of his current abstract pieces he had been commissioned for by a frequent buyer, a Mr. Smith, but as usual he ended his story with, “...you just have to see it to understand.” 

Jean saw something from the corner of his eye and turned his head, finding the cornsilk hair he had spotted before, though no longer disembodied. Her hair reached just below her shoulders, side pieces drawn back in loose braids, framing large blue eyes. She wore a long cream colored crocheted sweater that hung to the middle of her thighs and black leggings underneath, tucked into a pair of floppy brown boots. Over her left shoulder slung a small brown purse, her left hand fidgeting with the clasp. The sleeves of her sweater were so long they covered her hands to the knuckles; while it seemed like she could drown in the thing, it was very fitting. The outfit looked comfortable but not lazy, and seemed as warm and inviting as her smile. Jean couldn’t help but stare. 

“Ah, Armin! There you are!” Beth called, reaching down to hug the much shorter girl before her. Armin must have been a full foot shorter than Beth. Maybe more.

“Hey, yeah, sorry I’m late! Went to go freshen up and got trapped by a big group of very loud, very excited lesbians playing darts,” Armin responded, gesturing towards the back of the bar where a tall woman with freckles and brown hair wrapped a smaller blond woman in a big hug and an enthusiastic kiss after hitting a bullseye were being cheered on by their friends. 

“You look good, Arm,” Reiner said as he wrapped her in a one-armed hug. 

“Thanks,” Armin smiled. 

Beth looked from Jean to Armin, as Jean hadn’t quite yet broken his gaze, and introduced them. 

“Armin, this is--”

“Jean. Jean Kirschtein. P-pleasure,” Jean interrupted and stuck out his hand. Armin shook the sleeve of her sweater out of the way and clasped his hand with hers. 

“Armin Arlert. Pleasure, indeed.” Her smile expanded and she met his eyes. Jean prayed she didn’t notice the faint pink he felt brush across his nose. Reiner smirked and gave Beth a knowing look. Beth smiled triumphantly. 

Beth encouraged conversation between the two, Reiner chuckling to himself every once in a while. The topics were all typical introductory things, what do you do, how do you like it, what are you interested in, etc. Jean found out that Armin was a nurse at the children’s hospital across town, she loved working with the children and getting to know the families, and she fed birds in the park after overnight shifts. 

“Bird lady, eh? Like with the hats and everything?” Jean teased.

“You got me. Scarves too, on the weekends,” Armin laughed lightly and took a sip of her daiquiri. 

Suddenly the lights dimmed and focused on the small stage directly across from the bar. People cheered and gathered closer, filling the small tables. 

“Oh no,” Reiner groaned as the heavy pink lights washed the stage. 

“What?” Jean asked, looking from Reinier to the stage. 

“I forgot that tonight is drag night.”

Jean raised an eyebrow in response. Beth put her glass down on the bar with force and gave her attention to the stage. Jean looked to Armin for understanding, but she only shrugged in mutual confusion. Armin wedged herself between Reiner and Jean, leaning against the bar and ever so slightly against Jean’s side. Jean pretended not to notice. 

Two performers clicked their way to the middle of the stage in tall heels. One pair pink, the other black. Both wore black fishnets, though one wore ratty high waisted jeans and a torn band shirt, and the other a black cocktail dress. They had comically ratted and curled blonde hair and heavy, glittery eye make up with overdrawn lips. They took turns introducing the night’s show. 

“I never liked drag culture. Always made me uncomfortable,” Armin piped up over the booming voices and cheers.

“Why’s that?” Jean asked, turning to face her. 

“They get to choose when to present feminine like I do, but they make it seem like a costume, not a true expression. It cheapens _my_ expression. People take me less seriously,” she took her eyes off the stage and looked at Jean, frustration evident in the crease between her brows. “They think I’m just pretending.”

Jean nodded in agreement, finding a new perspective. He had never particularly liked drag culture, he found it to be a farce, but he had never necessarily disliked it either. Armin’s commentary finally placed the unease he held. 

“So are we ready, bitches?!” One performer called out to the crowd. 

“YAS, QUEEN!” Beth yelled. “You go! Continue to commodify and trivialize the trans woman experience!” Reiner clapped next to Beth. People turned back to look at Beth in confusion. “Feed into the gender binary! Enforce that heteronormativity!” Reiner raised a hand above his head in praise. Even the performers stopped to search for the origin of objection. 

“Wanna go, baby?” Reiner offered, pulled out his wallet and set down a few bills. Jean did the same, stopping Armin when she reached for her bag. 

“It’s on me,” Jean said nervously. Armin smiled earnestly and nodded. 

“Thank you. I owe you one.”


	2. Thank God I Don't Think Out Loud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coincidence is a funny thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bertholdt is a trans girl named Beth in this fic. Armin is bigender and referred to with she/her pronouns when presenting feminine.

The group stepped out of the bar, Reiner and Beth arm in arm, sandwiched between Jean and Armin.

“Guess we’ll have to avoid this place on Thursdays,” Reiner chuckled. Beth smiled and tossed her hair back.

“Don’t have time to waste on drag,” Beth said firmly.

“Well, where to, guys?” Jean asked. He may have had three or four commissions sitting at home, but he figured one night out wouldn’t hurt. More than anything he wanted to spend more time with Armin.

 

“There’s a Thai place around here, isn’t there?” Armin suggested, leaning to see everyone.

“Yeah, just around the corner, actually,” Reiner responded. “Thai sound good?” He looked from Beth to Jean.

Jean was apprehensive. He of course knew about the Thai restaurant, what with it being so close to his apartment, and he had heard marvelous reviews about it; the only problem was Jean’s tolerance for spicy food, or rather, the lackthereof.

“Sure! I could go for some beef tom kha,” Beth said cheerily.

“Awesome. I haven’t had Thai food in a while,” Armin smiled and let her arms swing a little more, clearly excited.

“Always up for something new,” Jean said with a shrug and a small smile.

The door of the Thai restaurant, Pato Thai, was kept open and the warm, inviting smells of homemade noodles, spices and vegetables wafted from the doorway. There were twinkle lights lining the door frame, presenting the idea that this was, indeed, the light at the end of the tunnel.

The hostess welcomed them with a big smile and seated them by a window. Armin sat closest to the window, Jean directly across the table. Lights from the laundromat sign across the street shone in, giving one half of her face and bright, angelic blue hue, and the other soft yellow from the overhead lights of the restaurant. Jean was enamored. Armin sensed Jean’s gaze on her and bent her head, blushing lightly.

Beth sat down next to Jean, smiling as she watched the silent exchange.

The waitress handed each of them a menu and took their drink orders, letting them know she’d be back in a few minutes.

“So, what’s good here?” Jean asked, unfolding the vinyl menu.

“The duck dishes are good,” Reiner suggested, “but I don’t know how much you like fowl food.” Reiner laughed to himself proudly as Beth groaned and Jean rolled his eyes. Armin laughed Reiner fist bumped her. Jean tried not to get hung up on the sound of her laugh.

“How about appetizers?” Beth offered, not looking up from her menu.

“I’d love some crab rangoons,” Armin answered.

“Wantons sound nice,” Jean interjected. The wantons mentioned nothing about spice, and he could’ve sworn he had tried them once. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until they’d entered the restaurant, so even if he hadn’t had them before, he was sure he’d eat them just the same.

“Mind sharing? Those both sound great,” Reiner set his menu down. His gaze went from Jean to Armin and back.

“Sure thing, man,” Jean agreed.

“Of course, no problem,” Armin seconded.

Jean continued to scan the menu for a dish that seemed safe and decided on pad woon sen, a meal of stir-fried silver noodles, egg, onions, celery, tomatoes, carrots, green onions and duck, taking Reiner’s suggestion to heart. Jean saw Armin nod to herself and set her menu down. It was a small gesture, but he couldn’t stop a small smile from emerging. She seemed so set on her order, so determined.

The waitress returned with their drinks and asked for their orders. Beth ordered her beef tom kha, a simple coconut soup, and Reiner ordered pork larb, and a savory salad.

“I’ll have the rhizome curry,” Armin declared, handing over her menu. Jean scanned the ingredients of the curry she seemed so excited about, surprised to see that it was listed as one of the spiciest items.

“And you, sir?” Asked the waitress.

“Pad woon sen, please,” Jean answered with a smile.

“Ooh, good choice,” Armin observed, nodding as everyone passed their menus to the waitress, thanking her.

“Yeah? It looked good. I’ve never had Thai food before,” Jean admitted.

“What?! I’ll take you again someday. We’ll have a sampling feast,” Armin insisted.

Jean tried not to get too excited--it was just a meal, no implications of anything more.

“Th-that’d be great,” Jean agreed nervously.

The group idly chatted while snacking on their rangoons and wontons, Armin talking about the latest ocean documentary he had seen about the migration patterns of narwhals. Jean wondered how she could make it sound so interesting when, honestly, he’d probably fall asleep during something like that. Beth mentioned an upcoming arts and music festival and suggested that they all go and make a day of it; perhaps Jean could even showcase some of his works.

“Oh, that’d be great! I haven’t had a showing in a while, I’d love to get out there.”

“But then you’d be busy all day,” Armin objected, “I wou-I mean, we, we wouldn’t see much of you.” Her face went a faint shade darker. Beth and Reiner smiled at each other.

“I guess you’re right,” Jean agreed, smile lopsided, flattered.

The waitress then approached, food balanced expertly on a large tray. She set the tray on a neighboring table and distributed the dishes accordingly, smiling kindly and asking if there was anything else she could do for the group. When they declined, she left and they began to eat.

Jean could smell Armin’s curry, the spices practically burning his nose hairs from across the table. He could never stomach anything spicy and marveled at Armin’s ease.

“Would you like to try some?” Armin asked suddenly.

“What?” Jean replied, startled.

“Try some of the curry. You keep eyeing it. Do you want a bite?”

“Oh, uh, no, no thank you. Truth be told I’m a wimp,” Jean attempted to laugh off the confession.

“Really? Never would have guessed. Offer still stands, if you change your mind.” Armin took another bite.

Jean returned to his own meal, savoring the flavors and textures. He understood why this restaurant got such great reviews and decided to visit more often.  
The four of them continued their conversation in between bites and eventually parted ways. Jean offered to pay for her cab, but Armin objected, saying that paying for her drink was more than enough kindness for one night.

“It was a delight meeting you, Jean Kirschtein,” she said his name slowly; he loved the way it left her lips.

“You as well, Armin Arlert. I look forward to seeing you again,” he gave her his best smile and shut her cab door, making his way back to his apartment.

Once home, Jean decided to make another attempt at his commissions, but found that he could not concentrate. Each time he tried, long hair and big, bright eyes appeared on the page, accompanied by small, delicate hands. Jean finally found rest around 3 AM.

________________________________________________________________

 

Tuesday, 2:30 AM, Jean aimlessly roamed the aisles of a 24 hour hole-in-the-wall market a few blocks down from his apartment complex; another sleepless night with no artistic motivation to speak of. He was stuffed in baggy sweats and a ratty Volcom t shirt from his ‘skater’ teenage days. He had shoved a black beanie over his head to hide the mess of hair that had been pulled at mercilessly due to stress over art commissions and white knuckled the flimsy black basket in his left hand, staring at the assortment of ramen before him, but not actually looking. That was the thing about insomnia he hated most: he was conscious, but never fully coherent.

Jean chose a few packets of beef flavored ramen, tossed them in his basket and turned to check the small seasoning section. Upon turning he saw Armin, dressed in slim gray sweats, flip flops and a white raglan shirt with black sleeves. His hair was pulled up in a messy bun, stray hairs drifting down onto his neck and around his ears. Armin held the same black basket Jean did, filled with rice, tofu, and spices. Jean didn’t know whether to approach him or back away before he was seen, but before he could decide, Armin sensed his gaze and turned his face to look at Jean.

“Jean, hey, man,” Armin greeted, voice raspy with a lack of sleep. Jean did his best to ignore the pull in his chest.

“Hey, Armin, how are you?” Jean took an unsure step forward. Armin turned his body to face Jean completely. Jean took it as encouragement.

“I’m good, you know...not asleep. Figured I’d stock the cabinets for the week.”

“Same here. I’m never asleep, though, really,” Jean let out a weak chuckle.

“Usually I sleep like the dead, but I woke up, like, way before my alarm, and I have to be up for work in a few hours anyway, so here I am.”

“Fair enough. Rather be productive than try to fight it, I get you.” Jean nodded and looked into his half empty basket.

“Yeah, yeah,” Armin trailed off. “Well, since you’re up, and I’m up, and we’re here, would you want to...not be here? Together?”

Jean couldn’t stop the flush of pink rushing across his nose and cheeks.

“Yes. I would. I would love to.” Jean sounded almost too eager, to Armin’s great delight.

“Alright then. Check out, then back to my place? Coffee?” Armin’s eyes seemed to grow wider.

“Sounds great.” Jean smiled and decided the seasonings could wait; he had coffee to drink.

The boys purchased their items and stepped outside to hail a cab; Armin said it was far too early to brave the three mile walk to his apartment. Jean agreed gratefully.

They sat in comfortable silence in the cab, though Jean itched for something to say. He enjoyed Armin’s company far too much to be quiet about it and wanted to know as much as possible about him. What was his favorite book? Was this how he usually spent late nights, picking up guys in grocery stores? Jean eventually decided to save the grilling for when they got to Armin’s apartment.

Jean and Armin trudged up the two flights of stairs, rustling plastic bags in hand. The front of Armin’s door had 45C painted on in black paint, though it was flaking along with its white background. Armin jimmied the door and opened it to a surprisingly spacious one bedroom apartment. There was a faded blue sectional couch shoved against a brick wall, looping around and creating a pseudo living space. A well sized flatscreen sat on top of a beat up cabinet against the wall neighboring the couch’s, a battered coffee table between them. To Jean’s left there was a white and yellow dining table with white chairs, flecks of paint nicked off from use. The kitchen came after the small dining room, sectioned with a tile bar and two tall bar stools. A wall separated the kitchen from another room, presumably a den, where bookshelves stood proud and arm chairs slouched, well worn and dusty brown on top of a red paisley rug. It smelled like vanilla and passionfruit. Jean immediately felt comfortable.

“Welp,” Armin said as he walked towards the bar, setting his keys and bag down. “This is it.”

“I like it. Very homey.”

Armin smiled, “Thank you,” then, raising his fist a little in excitement, “but on to coffee!”

Jean sat at the table, chair scratching a little at the dark hardwood floor.

He looked up at the wall next to the door, behind the dining table, and saw a large art print of a ram’s skull on a cloud filled sky background, and a desert landscape underneath it. A hollyhock floated to the left of the ram’s head. He stood and walked closer to appreciate the details; Armin noticed his interest and spoke up.

“Georgia O’Keeffe,” was all he said, tending to the coffee pot.

“Hmm?” Jean inquired, invested in the painting.

“‘Ram’s Head with Hollyhock,’ that’s the painting. It’s by Georgia O’Keeffe.”

“Yeah, I knew I recognized it.”

Armin closed the lid on the coffee maker and pressed the power button, enjoying the familiar sounds of coffee brewing. He then padded over to Jean.

“It’s one of my favorites. Inspiring, self assured, full of self discovery. I love seeing it when I wake up in the morning.” Armin gazed almost lovingly at the painting, savoring the intricacies he knew so well.

“I agree.” Jean was now looking at Armin, knowing there was more than one masterpiece in the room.

Armin caught Jean staring at him and they made eye contact. Armin was the first to blush, though Jean wasn’t far behind. The final drops of brewed coffee sounded and Armin walked over to pour their cups. Jean sat back down in his chair at the table and drummed his fingers on the solid wood.

Armin placed a large yellow mug in front of Jean--it was more bowl than cup--filled with the richest, sweetest smelling coffee ever to grace Jean’s senses. Armin also set a bowl of sugar with a spoon and a half gallon of half-and-half creamer on the table between Jean’s seat and his own. He took a seat and waited for Jean to take a sip. Jean reached for the sugar.

“You’ll probably want to take a drink before you do that,” Armin interjected. “It might be sweet enough on its own.” Armin slid the sugar towards himself instead, spooning two scoops into his own white cup.

Jean took a drink. It was exactly like drinking chocolate, but with the roasted bitterness of coffee. Jean sighed a little. He agreed; no sugar needed.

“What is this?” Jean asked between another sip.

“Chocolate Glazed Donut. It’s a Dunkin Donuts brew. My favorite.”

“And you still need sugar?”

“I’m a sucker for the sweeter things in life.” Armin looked at Jean meaningfully. Jean felt the back of his neck tingle.

Armin poured some creamer in his coffee and passed it to Jean; Jean did the same, setting the creamer down next to the sugar and savoring another drink.

“So, Georgia O’Keeffe, huh?” Jean asked over his cup.

“Yes, oh yes. I was raised in a small desert town and I hated it; when I found a book of O’Keeffe’s work, I was finally able to appreciate the beauty in the desert.”

“What part of the desert?” Jean asked, intrigued.

“Doesn’t really matter, it’s all dirt and bones and plants that poke you,” Armin replied, sipping his coffee. Jean could only imagine how sickeningly sweet his cup could be.

“Fair enough. Any other artists you like?”

Armin set his cup down on the table and stood up.

“Yes, actually, hold on!” Armin exclaimed, running towards the den at the back of the apartment. Jean gave a small smile.

The petite blond boy carried three books with him back to the table, all collections of pieces from different artists: Keith Haring, Roy Lichtenstein, and Salvador Dali. They discussed the similarities between the landscapes of O’Keeffe and Dali, the cultural timelessness of Lichtenstein and Haring, and drank a pot and a half of coffee.

Despite the flood of caffeine, Jean found himself yawning. Armin noticed the sky changing color and checked his phone; it was nearly four thirty and he was to be at work by five.

“Shit!” Armin rose, chair scraping.

“What is it?” Jean asked, becoming increasingly groggier.

“I need to be at work. I’m sorry to cut this short.” He smiled apologetically.

“‘S fine,” Jean insisted, waving him off. “You gotta work.”

Armin took a step forward, then stopped, turning back to Jean.

“Look. You can sleep here for the day while I’m at work. I’m not gonna make you go all the way back to your apartment with how tired you are.”  
Jean’s eyes opened a little wider.

“You sure about that?” Jean noticed his own voice sounded more alert.

“Absolutely. I’ll bring you pillows and blankets. You can have the couch.”

“Thank you, man, really.”

“Of course.”

Armin flitted around the apartment, caffeine kicking in suddenly with his rush to get to work on time. Jean watched him with lazy eyes.

“Okay!” Armin said triumphantly. “Blankets and pillows are on the couch for you,” he listed as he grabbed his work bag and redid his messy bun to be somewhat neater. “There’s food in the fridge if you get hungry, please don’t be shy. I should be home about 4, maybe a little later, depending on how things go. Sleep well and text me if you need anything!” Armin walked over to Jean, placing a small kiss on the taller boy’s forehead. Jean stiffened but said nothing.

Armin didn’t realize what he had done until his body was halfway out the door and dropped his keys in surprise, stumbling trying to pick them up and lock the door. _Nice going, Arlert,_ Armin thought to himself, _You’re letting him crash at your place, not move in._

Jean’s face flushed red and he tried to suppress the flutter in the center of his chest. _He didn’t mean it, he must be that familiar with all his friends. I am his friend now, right?_ Jean downplayed the action and tried to rationalize as he mechanically constructed a makeshift bed on the couch, suddenly much less awake than he was ten minutes before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [ orionwrites](http://archiveofourown.org/users/orionwrites) for being my beta peep!
> 
> [ This ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zCFHwoOObJk) is the song from which comes the title of the fic and its chapters. 
> 
> SOOOO sorry for how long this took me! One week turned into one month...but it's here!! The next chapter will actually be delivered in a timely manner!!
> 
> Couldn't resist making Armin an art enthusiast and a sugar addict. 
> 
> [ This ](http://www.georgiaokeeffe.net/ram-head-with-hollyhock.jsp) is the painting discussed, Ram's Head with Hollyhock.


	3. And Live For The Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys spend more time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear i haven't forgotten about this fic!! Sorry the update took me a million years!! I decided to split this chapter into two parts, so it might be 5 chapters instead of 4, but the next update should be here within a timely manner. Thank you for all the kudos, hits, feedback, everything! Means a ton. 
> 
> Thank you to orionwrites for being my beta!!

Jean eventually drifted to sleep, surrounded by Armin’s scent; passionfruit, sunshine and vanilla. He didn’t remember dreaming, but when he woke up he looked to the clock on the wall by the TV and noted the time: nearly 3 PM. 

He rose groggily, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. His hair was flat on one side and was tempted to put the beanie on in case Armin came home early. He decided against it; he had been sleeping, after all, and he doubted Armin would tease him for having bed head. Well, he hoped. 

Jean made his way over to the small kitchen, one hand rubbing at his eyes and the other gripping the blanket closer to him. He searched the cabinets for something simple to eat, something that wouldn’t seem too intrusive for the first time staying at a friend’s house. Jean found a cabinet full of cereal, all sugary and colorful; he wondered how Armin managed to ingest all this sugar and not melt in the rain. 

Jean grabbed the least sugary cereal he could find, Frosted Flakes, and rummaged for a bowl and spoon. He then checked the fridge for milk and wasn’t particularly surprised when he found a large container of chocolate syrup strategically placed next to the jug. Jean smiled and reached for the gallon, shaking his head a little. 

Ingredients before him, Jean made up his bowl, careful not to spill in his half-asleep state. Before digging in he put the milk back in the fridge. He ate lazily, enjoying how comfortable he felt in Armin’s home. It was like he had visited a thousand times, and this was just another--what day was it?--Wednesday. 

After he finished his bowl, he waddled over to the sink and rinsed, washed, and replaced his bowl and spoon. He put the cereal away and walked back over to the couch. 

Between the kitchen and the living room, Jean caught a glimmer out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he noticed the sun bouncing off the studs of an upholstered armchair in the den. Curiously, he made his way over to the small area. 

The far wall was lined with three small bookcases, all completely stocked and some stray books stacked on top of them. Above the shelves hung more art prints, and a framed poster of the movie Moulin Rouge. Jean smiled; it seemed fitting. He had seen the movie once or twice on TV, and he could very well imagine Armin enjoying the energy, the color, the music in the movie. Happy, enticing, and warm, at least in the beginning. Optimistic. 

There was another bookcase, at least six feet tall, which he had spotted the night before--or rather, early this morning. Jean scanned the titles at eye level. Most were on the ocean: books on marine animals, balance of ecosystems, weather and storm patterns. He looked one shelf below him and saw books of poetry. Jean stood up straight and walked to the tomato red highback arm chair hidden in the farthest corner by the smaller bookcases, bronze studs lining its upholstery. He pictured small Armin, tangled up in a blanket (perhaps the one draped across his own shoulders), cup of his overly sugared coffee in one hand, small book of poetry tucked in the other. It was a pleasant image, one Jean hoped to see someday. 

He sat in the beat up brown armchair just to the right of the tall bookcase, facing the art covered wall. Jean felt at peace here amongst the books, and the red paisley rug beneath his feet felt soft and inviting. 

Jean must have dozed off in the chair; next he knew, Armin’s hand was on his shoulder, quietly coaxing him awake. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Armin said softly, smiling at him. 

“Hey, sorry, man,” Jean rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye, sitting up straight.

“No problem, I told you you could sleep here. You were doing just that.”

Jean chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Did you want dinner before you go home? I can whip something up really quick,” Armin called over his shoulder as he made his way to his bedroom. 

“What time is it?” Jean asked, confused. Didn’t he just eat?

“Around six. Just about dinner time.”

“Ah, you don’t have to do that. I’ve already invaded your space all day.”

Armin poked his head around the corner, body still in his bedroom. Jean spotted a bare shoulder. “Really, it’s no problem. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

Jean smiled sheepishly. “Actually, I raided your cereal cabinet earlier. Never pegged you for a Lucky Charms guy.” Jean’s smile broadened. Armin let out a laugh just audible from where Jean sat. 

“Well, like I said. Sweets are my weakness.” Armin emerged from his room in gym shorts and a dark blue shirt that read ‘Nursing Major’. “But about dinner. Are you sure?”

Jean thought for a moment. He felt like he was imposing, but he really liked spending time with Armin. 

“...If you insist. I really appreciate it.”

Armin smiled earnestly. “Of course. I’m happy to be of service.” Armin took an exaggerated bow and walked toward the kitchen. 

“Hey, while I’m here taking advantage of your hospitality, would you mind if I took a shower while you cooked?”

Armin chuckled. “No, go for it. There’s spare towels under the sink.”

“Thanks!”

Jean stood and removed the blanket from his shoulders, folding it and placing it on the corner of the couch. He then walked into the bathroom. Armin’s bathroom was modestly decorated, a contrast from the rest of the mismatched space. It was very well kept, like the rest of the house, but everything was black and white; alternating towels on the rack, black and white polka dot soap dispenser, even black and white toothbrush holder. 

The warm water felt soothing on Jean’s tight shoulder muscles. The atmosphere in the apartment was very comfortable, but the couch itself was not. Jean noticed that Armin had lavender shampoo, and hibiscus body wash. All natural and very luxurious. Jean admired Armin’s attention to self-pampering. Once finished, Jean hung the towel over the shower curtain rod, got dressed and rejoined Armin.

The apartment smelled warm and delicious; garlic and rosemary, pepper, and thyme. Armin was spooning the cream sauce over some noodles as Jean walked out. 

“‘Whip something up really quick,’ huh?” Jean imitated. 

Armin blushed slightly. “Sorry, I got a little carried away. I like cooking too much.”

“All this within the fifteen minutes it took me to shower?”

“A sneaky recipe my grandpa passed down to me when I was 15 or so to woo anyone I needed to woo,” Armin explained. 

Jean gave Armin a lopsided smile. “You trying to woo me, Arlert?” 

Armin looked Jean dead in the eye. “Do you really need anymore wooing, Kirschtein?” 

Jean’s mouth hung open a little bit. Armin smiled smugly and gestured for Jean to sit. 

“Feeling fancy? I can pull a bottle of wine out,” Armin suggested. 

“This is fancy enough, thank you. No need to wine /and/ dine me.” 

 

The two sat in the same spots as the morning’s early hours, discussing Armin’s day at work. Jean caught himself eating slower than necessary, dragging out time so as not to leave Armin just yet. 

Eventually, however, the meal had to end. Jean offered to do the dishes, but Armin waved him off. 

“It’s only a few plates and it’s the least I can do,” said Jean. 

“Exactly,” Armin retorted, “It’s only a few plates. It may be the least you can do, but the most you can do is take me out on a date.”

“I knew that pasta wasn’t just pasta,” Jean smirked, blushing and doing his best not to drop the silverware in his hands. 

“You got me. What do you say?” Armin looked at Jean hopefully. Jean’s blush deepened and he smiled. 

“I’d love to take you out. How about the music and art festival we were talking about the other night? I’ll buy your affection with confections and local music.”

“Sounds great. I’ll get the night off tomorrow. It’s a date!”

Jean gathered up his groceries from the night before and put his beanie on, getting ready to depart. Armin walked him to the entrance, opened and leaned against the edge of the door, dreamily looking at the tall boy before him. Jean turned to say good bye. 

“Thank you for everything,” Jean said earnestly.

“Of course,” Armin breathed. Were they getting closer together?

“I’ll be sure to call you before the festival and we can set up times to meet up.”

“Be sure to call me whenever,” Armin replied without realizing. Space between them had definitely shrunk. 

“You got it,” Jean muttered and tilted his head to the side involuntarily, closing the final few inches between their lips. Armin tasted just like he smelled; sweet; like waking up on a Sunday; like home. Pink flooded Armin’s cheeks and he reached up, tracing Jean’s jaw line and resting his hand on his neck. 

They parted, Armin still blushing, with his hand now on Jean’s shoulder. Jean couldn’t control the smile on his face. 

“I thought first kisses were saved for the first date?” Armin teased.

“I’ve never been a patient man,” Jean warned, shaking his head and looking at his feet. He briefly looked up at Armin through long lashes. “I’ll call you,” Jean promised, turning and walking past the threshold and entering reality. He felt as if the past day had been a dream. 

Armin rested against the door jamb and watched Jean walk towards the stairs before closing the door behind him. The blond promptly fell over the back of his couch, face first into a pillow cushion, and let out a muffled scream. Relieved, elated, and nervous all at once, Armin replayed the kiss in his head a dozen times. He couldn’t wait for that phone call. 

  
  
  
  


Jean called Armin the next afternoon while painting. It had been a while since he had painted for recreation rather than for pay, and he had finished his last commission that morning. 

“Do you have to work soon?” Jean asked. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“No, no, I don’t work until 6 tonight so it’s okay. You’re not a bother at all,” Armin reassured him.

“Okay, great. I enjoy talking to you.”

“Yeah, this is nice. Tell me about your painting,” Armin prompted. 

Truth be told, Jean hadn’t been paying much attention to what his hands had been creating, only noting the unusual amount of blue he had used. Amid the shades and tones of blues there were streaks of light pinks and deep sea greens. There was no set form, only swirls and soft curves of light. It seemed to shine on its own. Jean felt warmth spread from the base of his spine and radiate to his chest. Only then did he realize that Armin made him feel the same way. 

“Jean?”

“Oh, sorry! Well, it’s abstract, you know, like most things I do...ah, it’s very...blue.”

“Blue?” Jean could hear the smile in his voice.

“Yes. But it’s fluid. It’s not...hard, not angular, like most of my other pieces. Like if the evening sky were also the sea, with the end of a sunset blended in.”  _ God, that sounded pretentious, _ Jean thought to himself.

“It sounds lovely. Maybe I could see it some time?” 

Jean flushed a little at the thought of Armin in his studio. There was a passing thought of having Armin model for him, and Jean had to shake off the idea before speaking again. 

“O-of course,” Jean managed, clearing his throat. 

“Awesome. So are you excited for the festival?” 

“Yeah! I was a vendor last year, so it’ll be nice to be on the other side of the tables. It’s nice to appreciate other people’s work too, you know what I mean?”

“I get that! Sometimes it’s nice to see the other nurses work with the kids. You learn a lot from observation,” Armin agreed.

 

The boys idly chatted for another half-hour or so before Armin had to get ready for work. 

“Sorry to cut this short,” Armin apologized. He had really enjoyed talking to Jean, especially the sound of Jean’s voice. 

“Oh no worries. I hope work is okay for you tonight.”

“Thank you! And thank you for calling. It was nice talking to you.”

“It really was. Oh, Armin?” Jean asked.

Armin savored the sound of his name on Jean’s tongue. “Yes?”

“I am really excited for the festival. I can’t wait to see you again.” Jean’s words were nervous, and he was worried Armin could feel the heat of his blush through the phone.

“I’m excited too, Jean. I’ll text you. Bye!”

“Bye,” Jean replied, almost in a sad sigh, before disconnecting. 

 

Armin tossed his phone on the side of his bed, opposite to where he had been laying for the duration of their phone call. He threw his legs over the bed and stood up in one fluid motion, making his way to his closet to pick out his scrubs for the night. Without getting too distracted, Armin also looked at his wardrobe to decide what to wear for the festival. Did he want light and flowy to match spring time, dark and witchy to match the artsy vibe, or some dark and flowy mix matched...thing? He didn’t know. Armin figured he was getting too worked up for a first date (but he  _ really _ liked Jean) and settled for pushing the decision to the night before. He had found that the best results came from last minute panic. 

  
Jean set his phone and paint brush down on his work table, taking a step back to look at his painting. The blues swirled together in a tumultuous spiral, and he felt almost pulled to the center. There was a gravity to it, mystery and delicacy that mixed together to create something completely new to Jean. He was surprised at himself for the work. Jean decided to paint while talking to Armin more often. Or maybe, perhaps having Armin in the room would work just as well.  

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to [ orionwrites ]() for being my beta peep!
> 
> [ This ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zCFHwoOObJk) is the song the title is based off of and will probably be the origin of all chapter titles as well.


End file.
